Two Against The World
by mdrwngnftwr13
Summary: My newfound love of Equilibrium has brought this to life. I seriously don't believe Cleric Errol Partridge, Sean Bean's character, was with Mary O'Brien so I'm making an OC that leads him to get off the Prozium.
1. Chapter One

As she slept, she dreamed. Not just a dream, but a nightmare. She stood in the center of a simple, white room. There was no discernible light source, but the light reflected off the walls, causing her to squint a little. There was a deep rumbling for a few seconds then silence. She turned to find a door to leave, to escape the white room. As she did, the walls began to move, pressing forward, closing in on her. She began panicking, moving from one wall to the other, slamming the sides of her balled fists against the blinding white walls. Her breathing was erratic and tears spilt down her pale cheeks as she beat her hands raw, painting the rapidly closing walls a bright crimson. Blood splattered with each strike. Her bottom lip trembled as she lifted one hand to wipe at her tear-stained face, streaking her cheek with blood. As she felt the walls press at her shoulders, her eyes squeezed shut and she let off a banshee-like scream.

A scream that carried over into the waking world. She jerked into a sitting position, her hands shaking as she lifted them to her face. Her fingers trembled as they felt the wetness on her cheeks. Another nightmare. That's three in a week. Shifting on her bed, she set her feet on the floor, rising to stand. Padding in her bare feet out of her bedroom, she walked down the hall to the bathroom, opening and closing the door behind her, turning to catch a glimpse of herself in the mirror. Her usually pale skin looked a few shades paler. A reaction to the nightmare, she assumed. Her dark brown, almost black hair was wild about her face and her gray eyes were red from crying. Off to the side was her Prozium injection case where she'd set it the night before. Opening the black case, she slipped her morning interval from the case, clicking it shut. Slipping the dosage into the top of the case, she brought it to her neck, pressing the trigger, causing the light amber colored liquid to be injected into her veins. After brushing her teeth, she stripped down, entering the shower.

Dressed in her pale gray work attire, she twisted her hair up into the regulation bun, then grabbed a bite to eat for breakfast. She was out the door at eight thirty-five and made the fifteen minute walk to the Tetragramaton building where she worked as a logger of EC-10 materials. The work was tedious, but it was what she was trained to do. She couldn't read other people nor was she physically gifted like the Grammaton Cleric. Ever since she was a child, she was looked down upon for being a klutz. But with the introduction of Prozium, the rolled eyes and the disappointed glances faded away with the emotions behind them.

She left work at exactly five o'clock, moving with the rest of the departing crowd, the nightmare having left a bad taste in her mouth, and an unnoticed frown marring her features. If not on the Prozium, one might consider her pretty, even beautiful. But thanks to the emotion-numbing product that is Prozium, not a single person paid any mind to her. She was simply another employed face in the crowd.

At home, she changed out of her work clothes into a simple pair of black, loose-knit slacks and a white t-shirt, moving about her kitchen, making steamed rice and pan-grilled chicken for dinner. She lived alone, not having been assigned to have her genetics mixed with another; not yet, at least. She was twenty-five years old, at the optimal age for arrangements to be made for her to be 'married'. Usually to a male of several years her senior, of premium genetics, so that their race may carry on. Due to the Prozium, they had no choice in the matter, nor did they care. They were just there to generate offspring and to raise them to the age where they were assigned their occupations, then their spouse. Sitting at her kitchen table alone, she pushed her rice around her plate with her fork, staring at the wall. After a few moments, she lowered her gaze, finding that she'd shaped a deformed circle with her rice. In the back of her mind, the child in her reminded her that it wasn't a circle, it was a heart. Her brow twitched with a frown and she scooped up a forkful of rice, lifting it to her mouth, destroying the deformed circle. No, the heart.

A few days later, another nightmare. She stood in the center of a crowd of her fellow Librians, each person jostled against their neighbor. She could see through the crowd of bodies, that they were surrounded by the police in their black helmets and their long, shiny leather trenchcoats, frightening black guns aimed at the crowd. She could hear orders shouted over the worried cries of the crowd, but could not distinguish them through the din. They must have been something important, for when the crowd did not calm, the sound of gunfire was added to the shouting. She could see the crowd around her diminishing, bodies falling to the ground, cut down by the police. It was almost as if time had slowed and she could see the bullets entering her fellow Librians, the sense offenders, causing them to jerk back, falling against their friends and neighbors, before crashing to the ground. She withdrew into herself, hunching her shoulders, hands clasped over her ears, but it could not drown out the unmistakable sound of death. Several people reached out towards her, mouthing things she couldn't understand as they fell. The gunfire ceased and she exhaled brokenly, tears slipping down her cheeks as she looked at the twenty-plus at her feet, bleeding to death, if not dead already. She lifted her tearful gaze to the police, all with their firearms aimed at her, like she was some sort of threat. There was a shouted order, not to her, but to the police surrounding her. They simultaneously adjusted their weapons and she gasped loudly as they fired.

Her heart thudded wildly in her chest as her eyes flew open, staring at the ceiling. She exhaled brokenly, turning onto her side, sobbing softly into her mattress. This nightmare was far worse than the others before. She rolled out of bed, falling to the floor with a thump and she grunted quietly, the tears continuing to spill down her cheeks. Crawling to the bathroom, she managed to lift herself into a standing position, staring at herself in the mirror. She was shocked to find that the look on her face brought only one word to mind. Distraught. She was distraught. How could that be? Being distraught was a sign of emotion. Of feeling. The Prozium stopped that. Stopped feeling. Stopped emotion. She'd heard whispers of people reacting to the Prozium, building up a tolerance to it. They were sent to Equilibrium and had their intervals adjusted, a higher dose. Within a few days, they had been back to normal. She reached over, picking up her injection case, opening it to reveal the small amber liquid filled vials. Her brow, very slowly at first, began to knit, then it turned into a full-blown frown and she removed her morning interval, slipping it into the injector. She aimed the needle at the drain in the sink, and hit the trigger, sending the Prozium down the pipes. After several deep breaths, she lifted her gray eyes to her reflection and slowly, a smile crossed her face. One of nervous excitement. Soon, a look of dread replaced the smile as she contemplated what she'd done. If she continued to quit dosing, she would become a sense offender. If she hadn't became one already, with what she'd just done. That was punishable by death. Lifting her hand to her face, she let her fingers drift down her cheek, then down across her lips. Looking off to the shower, she snapped back to reality, reaching over and turning it on. Just because she wasn't taking the Prozium anymore didn't mean that she had to stop working.


	2. Chapter Two

A week had passed since she'd stopped taking her Prozium and within the first few days, she'd realized what a world she'd lived in. The people of Libria were prisoners. Instead of cells and barb wire fences, they had Prozium and the Grammaton Cleric. The nightmares were fewer, replaced by dreams. Dreams of a world where everyone felt everything. They enjoyed their lives and the people around them. She could hear music in everything, even found herself humming what she heard in her head. A nonsensical tune; as nonsensical as it may be, dangerous all the same.

On her walk home one evening, she, unknowingly, began humming one of the songs she'd heard in her head. Also unbeknownst to her, Cleric Errol Partridge was walking past her, hearing her humming. At five-thirty on the dot, her watch began to beep, as did everyone else's. A klaxon went off, in sync with the watches. Simultaneously, everyone on the street, and all of Libria stopped where they stood, removing their Prozium injectors, slipped the evening interval into the slot, then dosed. All but Cleric Errol Partridge, who watched her go through the motions, still humming softly to herself. As the crowd began to move again, the Cleric turned, green-gray eyes locked on the dark head of hair of the woman that had caused him to miss his dose. He followed her home, at a safe distance, making note of where she lived.

He stopped a block from her apartment building, remembering that he'd forgotten to take his evening interval. He reached for his Prozium case, placing one of the capsules into the injector slot, lifting the nozzle to his neck. He didn't wince at all when the needle pierced his skin, he hadn't winced since he'd first began to take it. But something stopped him from pulling the trigger, and he pulled the needle from his neck, his hand still hovering by his collar. A car drove past, yanking him from his thoughts and he squeezed the trigger, causing the Prozium to splash against his neck, slipping down to wet his collar. Returning the case to his pocket, Errol lifted his free hand, wiping at his neck, continuing down the road.

Three days later, Errol stood at the entrance to Tetragramaton, watching each female face as they exited the building, waiting for the whistling woman. She stepped through the doors and made her way down the steps, with Errol a few steps behind her. She paid no attention to him at all, she was more focused on one of the books she'd filed that day, filled to the brim with drawings of men and women entwined in scandalous poses, clearing intending to mate without need of a genetics team. Her cheeks had flushed and she'd accidentally dropped the book, causing it to open to a page of a man and a woman on their hands and knees, the man bent over the woman, clutching to her from behind. When her supervisor had questioned the drop, she merely replied with 'I was clutching the book incorrectly and as I went to shelve it, it slipped from my fingers.'Her supervisor had believed her and went on his way.

When they reached her apartment building, he entered after her, following her up to her apartment. As she reached her door, passing her identification card over the slender pole a few feet from the door, unlocking it, he rushed towards her, pushing her into the apartment, closing the door behind them. Her gray eyes widened with surprise as he pushed her against the wall, green-gray eyes meeting her gray. She'd never seen this man before in her life. Who was he? Was he a sense offender? Did he know she was one as well? He slipped a hand into his pocket, removing his Cleric badge, flashing it at her face, causing her eyes to widen more. He began to speak, his tone English as his voice was low and dangerous, "Who are you?"

Her heart pounded wildly beneath her ribcage, but she kept her breathing steady, her face neutral. "Hastings, Evelyn. May I inquire as to why you've forced your way into my apartment, and your name, sir?" She asked in a calm tone.

"I am Cleric Errol Partridge. You are under suspicion of being a sense offender."

"Ridiculous. I take my Prozium, just like every other Librian."

"I seriously doubt, Miss Hastings, that every other Librian hums as they leave their workplace," Errol replied, eyes boring into hers, their faces just a few inches apart.

Evelyn's eyes widened as a small gasp surged its way up her throat, but she stopped it in her tracks. "You've been following me? This is uncalled for, Cleric. I take my Prozium, just like-"

"-every other Librian? Yes, you mentioned that, Miss Hastings." Errol finished for her.

Evelyn opened her mouth to speak, but could find no words, so she slowly closed her mouth. "How many times have you snuck into the Nether?" Errol questioned, hands gripping her shoulders tightly

"What? Ne-never. I've never been to the Nether. I've no need to. I live here, I work at the Tetragramaton in Filing of Condemned Artifacts. This is my life. That is all."

"Right. How long have you been off Prozium?" Errol pressed on, almost not listening to her answers.

"I take my-"

"Answer the question!" Errol whispered harshly, his brow furrowing as he brought his nose an inch from hers.

Evelyn gasped softly at his firm tone, wondering if he'd been off the dose. "Ten days," She murmured softly, swallowing hard. "Are you going to arrest me now? Take me for processing? Search my home for EC-10 materials? I assure you, you'll find none."

"Be quiet," Errol growled softly, releasing her shoulders as he took several steps back.

Evelyn's bottom lip trembled as she watched him, fearing that any moment now that the door will burst open, the police with their helmets and their trenchcoats and their guns aimed at her. Errol turned away from her, pacing the floor of her entryway for several minutes as she stood, frozen, palms pressed flat against the wall. After a few agonizingly slow, silent moments, Errol spoke, "I saw you yesterday. Heard you, was more like it. You were humming. I thought it was the turbines under the city, but it fluctuated and I knew it was you. I saw you take your dose and figured you were just muttering to yourself, but even as you dosed, you continued to hum." He breathed a small chuckle, flashing a wry, humorless smile. "You made me miss my dose. Then, when I remembered, I wasted it. Spilled it on my uniform."

His features contorted into anger and he moved towards her again, his hand at her throat, squeezing firmly, but not cutting off her air. "Why?! Why did you stop?"

Evelyn licked her lips softly and she met his gaze evenly. "Do you dream, Cleric Partridge? I do. For several months now, I've had the most terrible nightmares. They jerk me from sleep, leaving me a weeping mess in my bed. I assumed it was a sort of psycho-allergic reaction to the Prozium. Something in my genetic makeup reacting strongly to the numbness, revolting against the lack of emotion. I had tests done after the first few nightmares, and everything came out fine. 'All in your head', they told me. How funny, now that I think about it," she breathed a small chuckle, looking away for a moment. "Do you wish to know about the most unusual part of these nightmares I have, Cleric Partridge?"

Errol nodded, almost entranced by her words.

"I'd rather have nightmares every night than never feel again," Evelyn whispered softly.

Errol released her neck, taking several steps back as a look of bewilderment crossed his face. "How do you deal with it? All this...feeling?" Errol questioned, his voice barely audible.

The gears whirred in her head and she realized he'd not dosed in nearly seventy-two hours. "I embrace it. At the Tetragramaton, I work with very few people. And outside of it, I have no real acquaintances to speak of. So there's limited interaction. Not very difficult, Cleric. But...I assume, with you, Cleric Partridge, that the past few days have been difficult. With the occupation you have. I apologize for distracting you and causing you to skip your dose."

Errol said nothing, eyes lowered to the ground as he tapped at his mouth with his gloved fingers. After several more minutes of silence, Evelyn opened her mouth, "Are you going to arrest me now, Cleric?"

Errol lifted his gaze to hers sharply, "Would you like to be?"

Evelyn shook her head, "No, Cleric."

"Alright, then. Please do not mention it again," Errol said, moving towards the door, a lock of his light brown hair falling over one eye.

"Cleric?" Evelyn spoke, taking a step towards him.

Errol turned to face her, his green-gray eyes widened as he watched her lift her hand, brushing the lock of hair back. He stared at her for a moment, studying her features, then without another word, opened the door to her apartment, stepped through the threshold and closed the door behind him.


	3. Chapter Three

She slept, and in her dream, saw Cleric Errol Partridge in nothing more than a pair of black pants, his skin tanned by the sun. He approached her slowly, bare feet covered by the tall grass. If one was to ask of something that was the color green, this was it. The perfect shade, bright, and cool to the touch. Evelyn glanced down at herself and she saw that she wore a simple, white sleeveless dress. When Errol was within two feet of her, a slow smile crept across his features, causing her own smile to grow. He lifted his hand to her face, thumb brushing gently against cheek. His mouth lowered to hers softly, barely brushing against them. It tickled and she giggled softly, causing a quiet chuckle to escape him. Her hand slid up his bare sides, winding around to splay across his back, and he pulled her closer to him. Her eyes slipped shut and she felt his lips press sweetly against her closed eyelids, then to her mouth once more, staying there for more than a moment. His hand at the base of her spine slid down to caress her backside and she gasped softly, opening her eyes to meet his. "Shhh...I've got you," He whispered against her lips.

The dream shifted and she found herself on her back in the grass, Errol above her. His hair was wild, not slicked back, but several dozen strands hanging loose around his ears and his forehead. He mouthed something she couldn't understand and she felt a sharpness in her nether regions, then a warmth spread from there, down to her toes and up to her fingertips. Errol moved so his forearms rested beneath her shoulders, his face just a few inches from her as his hips shifted. His actions caused that warm feeling to grow, tingles shooting down her spine. Gasps and soft moans spilled from her lips, and she clutched at him, fingernails digging into his back, warmed by the sun. Errol moved inside her, kissing her face playfully as she begged him never to stop. She arched her hips towards his with want, and he catered to her every need, kissing her passionately as they both reached their climax.

Evelyn sat up in bed, panting softly, not of fear, but of a feeling comparable to the one she felt as she read the Kama Sutra book that she'd taken with her one evening on a whim. It was dangerous, but once certain restricted items are logged, they're almost never called upon again, to gather dust in the dark. Lifting her hand to her mouth, she brushed her middle and index finger against her bottom lip, wishing to recreate the sensation of Cleric Partridge's mouth on hers. With a sigh, she dropped her hand, then pushed herself off the bed, the first step in starting yet another day. It was always the same. Wake up, shower, dress, eat, work, come home, eat, sleep. Nothing changing, nothing different. And Evelyn grew tired of it. She wanted nothing more than to avoid going to work at the Tetragrammaton, find a place outside Libria, and just...live. Unfortunately, it was not to be.

After work, Evelyn returned home to find Cleric Partridge standing at the front entrance of her building. Her footsteps halted for a moment when she saw him, and images of her dream flashed through her mind, causing her cheeks to flush. She approached him slowly, and greeted him with a nod. "Cleric," she said simply, before moving to the door, unlocking it and stepping inside. She heard him enter behind her and she did not turn her head. "Do you have business in the building, Cleric?" She asked. He did not reply, simply following her up to her apartment. She turned to face him at the door, her heart catching in her chest when her eyes met his.

"No, Miss Hastings," Cleric Partridge replied before stepping forward.

She could have said something, stopped him from entering, but she didn't. She merely opened the door wider, allowing him entrance and closing the door behind him. "May I inquire as to why you are here, Cleric? If you--"

"If you are going to ask me if I'm going to arrest you, the answer is 'no', Miss Hastings," Cleric Partridge interrupted her.

"Then why--"

"I don't know," He sighed, lifting to run his gloved fingers through his hair.

Evelyn strode further into her apartment, starting for her bedroom to change out of her uniform. She closed the door behind her, leaving the Cleric to his own means. She changed into a pair of black pants, and a plain, white t-shirt. She turned to leave her room, and gasped softly when she saw the Cleric standing in the doorway. She must not have closed it all the way and it slowly swung open. It had a tendency to do that. A delightful shiver went down her spine as she envisioned him striding into the room, pinning her to the wall and claiming her mouth with his. He didn't however, he simply stared at her, his blue eyes roving over her form slowly. Evelyn found her voice after the flush had already filled her cheeks, "May I assist you in any way, Cleric?"

"Yes. You may start by calling me 'Errol'," He replied, meeting her eyes.

"If you insist, Cler--" Off his glance, she cleared her throat, correcting herself, "Errol."

"Thank you," Errol nodded, the corners of his mouth curling up slightly.

"You may call me 'Evelyn', or 'Evie', if you like," Evelyn replied.

She'd not been called 'Evie' in years. Not since Prozium. And to hear such a personal, sentimental nickname spoken by Errol Partridge seemed to make Evelyn's heart beat faster. "May I get you a drink, Errol?" Evelyn asked softly, moving to walk past him, out of her bedroom.

"Please," Errol nodded, following her out.

Evelyn made her way down the short hallway, willing her cheeks to lose some of the color they had gained at the thought of Cleric Partridge _doing_things to her. She heard his footfalls behind her as she entered the kitchen, walking to the refrigerator. Opening the door, she pulled out a bottle full of a clear liquid. Not water, nor alcohol (for it was banned as EC-10 material may years ago), but a nutrient-enriched beverage that tasted faintly of pomegranates. It was not inexpensive, due to the procedures used to concoct the libation. Setting the bottle on the counter, Evelyn moved to the cabinet, pulling two glasses from it. Moving once more to the counter, Evelyn set the glasses down, sparing a glance over to Errol for only the smallest of moments. She lifted the bottle, twisting the cap off, pouring each of them half a glassful before capping the bottle. Evelyn turned back to the fridge, placing the bottle inside, completely missing Errol's slow, sweeping once-over of her. Evelyn returned to the counter, picking up one of the glasses and held it out to Errol, who accepted it with a polite nod. She hadn't expected a smile, she often found herself smiling like someone that had lost their mind for no reason in particular.

Evenly watched as Errol lifted the glass to his mouth and the clear liquid pass his lips. Lips she'd dreamt gracing her skin the night before. A wonderful heat started low in her belly and spread up and out, until it reached the tips of her fingers and toes. She found herself staring and wrenched herself from her thoughts, lifting her own glass to her lips, taking a small sip. Then another. The minutes passed with an agonizing slowness that made Evie want nothing more than to toss the glass over her shoulder and launch herself towards him, revealing _just_ what she'd learned from that little piece of EC-10 material she'd brought home. She attempted to distract herself from watching his lips press against the clear glass of his cup but humming softly to herself. Carrying her own glass over to the kitchen table and sitting down, Evelyn desperately wanted to break the silent that hung over them like a heavy curtain, but could think of nothing. "Is this all that you do?" Errol asked quietly.

Evelyn lifted her head, lifting her gray eyes to meet his green-gray ones. "I beg your pardon?" She questioned, her dark hair falling over one shoulder as her head canted slightly to one side.

"I asked if this is all that you do? Return home from work, get something to drink and sit at the table, staring at nothing?"

Evelyn's eyes narrowed as she continued the eye contact with the Cleric. "Are you saying my home life isn't exciting, Cleric?"

"Errol," He corrected her before striding over, sitting down at the table across from her.

"Errol," Evelyn nodded before taking another drink.

"I'm not implying that you're not exciting. Not at all. It's just...you're twenty-five. I assumed you were married by now," Errol spoke slowly, as if choosing his words carefully.

"I do not recall informing you of my age, Errol," Evelyn said after a brief moment of silence.

Evelyn had to bite the inside of her cheek to keep from giggling softly at the light blush that filled the Cleric's cheeks. He stammered twice and cleared his throat once before speaking, "I took the liberty of reading your file that's kept at the Tetragramaton."

"And may I ask why you did that?" Evie queried, taking another sip of her beverage.

"My reasons are my own," Errol replied, as a way of saying he didn't have a proper reason or one he wanted to share with her.

"I see," Evelyn's head rose and fell a few times in a nod. "No, I am not married, nor am I actively looking for someone to marry. At this point in my career, I am focusing on doing my very best and a child would hinder that quite a bit."

"Forgive me if I'm wrong, but that sounds rehearsed, Evelyn," Errol said, a small twinkle in his eye.

"That may be what I say to any potential prospects suggested by my parents. They do it simply because they want their grandchildren to be the finest Librians they can be," Evelyn sighed, thinking of her parents and shaking her head.

"If that's what you say, what do you really think?" Errol found himself asking aloud before he could stop himself.

Evelyn's shoulders rose in a shrug and she shook her head once again. "I don't know. In my line of work, I'm sort of forgotten. Not particularly a specimen of athletic perfection. Not the most intelligent. I catalog banned materials. There aren't very many people that believe the optimal person to marry is someone who knows how to put stuff on a shelf."

Errol was quiet for a few moments, taking a sip of his drink then remarked, "I can understand where you're coming from. But if this goes on for a few more years, people will begin to talk. Then you'll be sent in for tests to see if you're what they called 'homosexual' back before the war."

Evelyn's eyes met his once more and a look of confusion crossed her face. "I don't believe I know that term."

"It was used in the late twentieth, early twenty-first centuries to describe someone who felt an attraction to people of the same gender," Errol rambled off, setting his glance on the table and lacing his fingers together in front of it.

"So...certain men enjoy the company of men and women enjoy the company of other women?" Evelyn asked, wondering where that sounded so familiar.

"That's correct," Errol nodded.

Evelyn's gray eyes lowered to the table as she tried to remember where she'd heard of that before. It had been recent... Her eyes widened as she realized where she'd heard of men and women performing relations with the same sex. That Kama Sutra book touched on it briefly. "So, if I don't get married within the next..." Evelyn began, not knowing a concrete time period.

"Five years," Errol informed her.

"Thank you. Five years...they're going to have me _tested_ to see if I'm a homosexual? They have tests that can tell that?" Evelyn asked, almost in disbelief.

"So they say," Errol nodded, taking another sip.

Their glasses slowly emptied and soon enough the Cleric and the young woman that had caused him to be a sense offender sat across from each other, swapping stories that they could remember from their childhood. Evelyn glanced up at the clock on the wall, noting the time. She pushed her chair back, reaching for the glass that sat in front of Errol, and her own. "Let me help you with that," Errol said, moving to stand as he reached for his own cup, his fingers brushing against hers.

"Oh, no. It's fine. It's just two glasses. Really, I can manage," Evelyn replied, carrying the glasses over to the sink, rinsing them out before setting them in the small rack beside the sink.

Errol remained standing, watching as she wiped her hands off on the plain white towel that hung from one of the cabinet handles beneath the sink. "I'm sure you'll have to think up quite the excuse for your wife when she asks you why you were returning home at such a late hour," Evelyn said absently, turning to see him standing a few feet away, his hand resting on the back of his chair.

"No wife," Errol replied softly, meeting her gaze. "I'm not married."

And off Evelyn's look, he added with a small smirk, "And I'm not a homosexual."

Evelyn breathed a small laugh before asking, "Why aren't you married? Surely you're over twenty-five years old."

Errol was quiet for a moment then shrugged his shoulders, "At this point in my career, I'm focusing on doing my very best and a child would hinder that quite a bit."

Evelyn chuckled softly as she heard her own words parroted back to her. "You have quite the sense of humor, Cleric Partridge," Evelyn spoke in a cheeky tone.

Errol narrowed his eyes at her, taking no more than a few seconds to close the distance between them, pinning her to the counter. Evelyn felt her heart leap into her throat and she forced herself to keep her breathing regular. They were so close, Evelyn could see the dark ring that was at the very edge of the iris of his green-gray eyes. They eyelids of the Cleric slipped to half-closed as he lifted his hand, touching her cheek softly. "How many times must I tell you, Miss Hastings, to call me 'Errol'?" He asked quietly.

His breath was hot and sweet against her cheek, the scent of their shared beverage still hanging on his breath. How Evelyn wished she had the nerve, the spine, to crush her mouth against his, to taste him and compare that taste to the pomegranates. See which was sweeter. Evelyn would go as far as putting money on the line that he tasted better than anything in Libria. Evelyn found her mind and she exhaled slowly, lifting her eyes to meet his, "My apologies, Errol. I shall try my best to not repeat such an offense." Evelyn spoke breathlessly, as if just meeting his eyes sucked all the air out of the room.

"Good. See that you don't," Errol replied, his tone taking on a slightly husky quality.

He backed away then nodded at her. "Good night, Evelyn."

"Good night, Errol," Evelyn responded, blinking several times slowly.

"I'll just let myself out then, shall I?" He asked, turning and starting for the door.

"No, I can walk you," Evelyn said, pushing herself off the counter, following after him.

Once the Cleric was out the door, Evelyn locked it, turned, and rested her weight against it. A sigh passed her rose-colored lips and her eyes slipped shut. She prayed, to no deity in particular for organized religions were restricted, that she'd get to dream of him again when she went to sleep.


End file.
